Here Comes the Sun
by tbazzsnow
Summary: written for the Carry On Countdown 2018. Dec 3 prompt Sunset/Sunrise. Except this fic starts with early morning musings at sunrise for Simon and ends with a shared sunset back at Watford for them both. Sof, in love Baz and Simon. Post canon setting.


Dec. 3. Sunset/sunrise

 **Simon**

I'm a morning person. Always have been.

Up with the sun.

Started in the care homes. Everyone else would sleep until the matron would wake us up for breakfast. But if I got up early I had the time to myself.

Without the noise of all of them, without them looking at me, without them all making me feel small and scared.

They couldn't push at me, rile me up, break me down, when I was alone.

I'd get up, in whatever home I was in, to find a window. To see the sun rise, if I could.

Stayed with me, that habit has. I always get up, right at dawn. I used to get out of bed and start my day when I was at Watford.

Baz hated that. Said I clattered around just to annoy him.

Baz is not a morning person. He's a grumpy sleepyhead. And I think it's one of the things about him that I love the most.

I love a lot of things about Baz. Most of them are actually things I thought I hated but that was just repression, maybe? My therapist says that happens sometimes. Cognitive dissonance, she said that too. I was feeling so many conflicting emotions for Baz—the ones that made sense, the loathing, the suspicion, the wariness.

And the ones that didn't make any sense to me at all. Like how much I liked watching him play football. How I used to think about his hair. What it would feel like, how much better it looked falling around his face rather than slicked back. How much I worried about him when he was gone.

How he looks in jeans.

I love Baz all the time but there's just something about him in the morning. When he's still asleep.

Soft. Eyes closed, the long line of his neck exposed, the dark tumbled waves of his hair falling across his face. It makes me reach out a finger to brush it away, so I can see his face.

It's sunrise now and I'm awake, of course. I don't want to get up. I don't need to. But I didn't close the drapes well enough last night and the light is shining in. Don't want Baz to wake up because of it. I shift away from him and then stand up to go to the window.

I mean to close the drapes up tight but I can't help peeking out before I do. The sun is rising over the city and it's as beautiful as ever. I glance behind to make sure the light hasn't disturbed Baz.

He's still asleep, bathed in the rosy glow of the early morning sun. Looking at him now you'd never think he was a vampire. I think this is what he'd probably look like all the time, if he hadn't been turned.

I don't really think about that anymore. About Baz being a vampire.

Not unless he's irritable because he hasn't fed in days. Then I think about it. But not like I used to.

It's just a part of who Baz is. It doesn't define him.

And I love every part of Baz. Even that.

Even if he doesn't.

Because it's _Baz_.

I tuck the drapes closed, pulling the edges over each other to block out the light.

Baz's arm has moved to the space I occupied a few moments ago, as if he's searching for me. I climb back into bed and his arms wrap around me as I rest my head on his chest.

He mumbles something. I know what he said.

Said my name. And that's the most beautiful sound in the world.

 **Baz**

Professor Bunce has instituted some new traditions at Watford since she became the Headmistress. This class reunion is one of them.

It's our five-year reunion. Five years since we left Watford. Five and a half for Bunce and Simon.

I wasn't keen on coming back for it. Watford is a place that holds many memories for me. Some good but quite a number of awful ones too.

Eighth year was simultaneously the worst and best year of my time here.

Simon wasn't too keen on coming back either. He's been to Watford since that momentous Christmas holiday. He came to my leavers' ball. And one other time, with Bunce.

It's not Watford so much, that unnerves him, although that's part of it. I don't think he wants to see everybody. Due to the whole Mage incident and the fallout after.

I certainly don't. I see the ones I choose to remain in contact with—Dev, Niall, Bunce perforce and occasionally Wellbelove. And Simon, of course. That goes without saying. I can't face the thought of a day without Simon.

I don't care much about seeing any of rest of them. I didn't know them all that well, after all.

My focus was on one particular person back then.

Simon was friends with practically everyone in our class. He'll tell you he wasn't. That Bunce and Wellbelove were his only friends but that's rubbish. Even Bunce agrees with me on this.

Trixie and Keris adored him. Phillipa Stainton had a painfully obvious crush on him and he was oblivious but still utterly kind and friendly with her, clueless git that he is. Rhys and Gareth practically hero-worshipped him. And the rest.

But Bunce, in her usual inexorable and domineering way, has browbeaten us both into being here. I was so sick of hearing about the reunion that I finally agreed, on the condition that Simon had to come with me. Simon has a difficult time saying no to Bunce and to me as well I've discovered.

I've not let on that I've made that realization. About me, I mean, not Bunce. Won't do at all to let him know. He's perfectly aware that I am basically putty in his hands but he's gracious enough not to harp on it anymore. No need for me to bring this new awareness of mine up. Not now. Not until I know for sure.

I hope I'm right about him not being able to say no to me.

We're up on the ramparts now. The party starts in a bit. Bunce made us come early, of course. Made me drive them here, more accurately. Five years later and I'm still their chauffeur.

Not that I would trust any of them behind the wheel, so of course I drove. Micah's not a bad driver per se. He was fine when we visited him in America but he's absolute pants at it here. Even after a year of living in London he's still petrified of roundabouts and just awful about what lane to get in on turns.

He and Bunce immediately go to find the Headmistress when we arrive and I take the blessed opportunity to drag Simon up here. Away from the hubbub.

The sun is setting and it's a lovely sight from this part of the ramparts. We're the only two up here, just as I hoped we would be.

I slide my arm around Simon's waist and pull him close. His bronze curls drop onto my shoulder. It's like a puzzle piece locking into place when he does that. We just fit.

Like he belongs right here, right next to me.

Like I belong to him.

"It's strange to be back," Simon says. "I feel like I belong here but I know I really don't anymore, not now."

"You've always belonged here, Simon. No matter what."

"The gates still . . ."

I interrupt him. "You don't know if they would or not. Not with all four of us in the car. There'd be no way to tell."

Simon shifts off my shoulder, crosses his arms and leans on the parapet. His chin juts out in a mutinous fashion. I know this look. "They didn't open the last time I was here either."

"That was before."

Before his magic started coming back.

I think it started when the holes began to dissipate. Little by little, just as Martin Bunce had predicted, the holes began to get smaller. The magic started to return. My family has been back at Pitch Manor for a few years now. There are still a few dead spots there, in the woods and some of the more remote parts of the property.

But the magic is back.

It's back in Simon too. Just a trickle of it. But it's there.

Not like it was. It's not that overpowering, smoldering mass of it. That's gone. I don't think that will ever be back.

I'm glad. That wasn't what Simon's magic was meant to be. That was the Mage's perverted scheming and manipulation of the fabric of magic itself. He tore it to create his manufactured Chosen One.

And tore Simon apart in the process as well.

And Simon's mother too.

I can't think about that right now. Red hot rage is not the mood I'm going for right now. I take some slow breaths to calm down and put my hand gently on Simon's back.

"That was before," I say again. "Things may be different now. We don't know. But none of that matters to me, Simon. You know that."

His muscles are tense below my hand and I think back on the last time we stood here, our roles reversed, his hand on my back.

That was a good night. It was another turning point in our relationship.

I'm hoping tonight will be too.

I keep rubbing circles on his back and I finally feel his muscles relax. Simon leans into me.

"I'm sorry, Baz. You're up here, trying to create one of your romantic moments and I'm being a right twat." His head rests on my shoulder again and I slide my arm around him.

"Watford's as lovely as it ever was." My eyes sweep over the Wavering Wood and the rosy gold sky where the sun is sinking down. "I don't think I appreciated that enough when we were here." My lips brush his hair. "I was too busy appreciating how delectable you were and bemoaning the fact that I'd never be more than your hated nemesis."

Simon turns and slides his arms around my waist and tilts his head up to look at me. "You were never really my nemesis, Baz."

He is standing so close to me that I feel his breath as he speaks.

"Could have fooled me."

"I was too busy fooling myself, Baz." Simon's lips reach up to mine and the sunset, the ramparts, my purpose for bringing us up here are forgotten in the moment.

Moments. The sun is quite a bit lower in the sky by the time we break apart. The last rays of the sun burnish Simon's curls to a luminous rosy gold.

He's stunning.

He's distracting as hell and the minutes are ticking by.

"I never thought we'd be here, Simon, looking back on those days. Both of us here, alive and not at each other's throats."

Simon nudges me and grins. "We're still at each other's throats. It's just a whole lot more fun now."

"Shut up, you insufferable nightmare. I'm trying to say something meaningful here."

Simon leans forward and gently runs his lips from just above my shirt collar all the way up my jaw to my ear. "I'm trying to do something meaningful," he whispers, his breath tickling my skin and making me tremble.

I have no self-control. My fingers sink into his hair and my mouth finds his and it feels like the very first time again, bathed in the fiery glow of the sun rather than flames this time, his lips hot on mine, his hands warming my face before they slide down my chest leaving a trail of heat and want.

I dial the kiss back, soft and tender now, my hands stroking his hair, his neck, sliding down until I grasp both his hands in my own.

I pull back. I have to do it now. The sun will be gone in a moment and Bunce will likely send a search party if we don't put in an appearance soon.

I squeeze his hands tightly. "I've been thinking about something. For a while now. I've tried to think of the right way to say it, tried to think of the right place." I'm usually good with words but the whole speech I had prepared for this moment has vanished from my mind.

My words are just tumbling out haphazardly but I can't stop now. "I didn't want to come back to Watford for this party but I'm glad I did. I can think of no more perfect place to say this than where it all started between us." I can see Simon's eyes widen. "I love you, Simon Snow. I think I've loved you since the first moment I laid eyes on you. I've loved you when I was at my worst. I've loved you when you were at yours. I want the chance to love you for the rest of my life, if you'll have me."

I've slipped the box out of my pocket now. Somehow, I manage to pop the lid open as I slide down to one knee. "Simon Snow, I choose you. Will you choose to be with me, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, as long as we both shall live?"

The words seem to swirl around me as I look up at Simon's face. It's a mix of astonishment and joy, his eyes wide and his mouth stretched in a broad grin, the last rays of the sun illuminating his face.

He drops down to his knees in front of me, so our faces are nearly level. "I choose you, Baz Pitch. I choose a lifetime with you." He pulls me to him and buries his face in my neck. "You beat me to it, you sneaky twat."

I start laughing and I just can't stop. If this isn't exactly what living with Simon Snow is like. I never know what to expect but it's perfect just the way it is.

I finally stop laughing and gesture at him with the ring box I'm still holding in my hand. "You haven't even looked at the ring I spent hours agonizing over."

Simon looks down and his eyes go soft. It's a simple ring, really. Just a wide gold band. I had them etch "I choose you" on the inside. I pull it out of the box and take his hand.

I slide the ring on his finger and feel the subtle tingle of Simon's magic flow through to me as I do. It's green and warm with just the faintest hint of smoke. "I choose you, Simon." The tingling gets stronger as I speak the words.

"I choose you, Baz." Simon's answer is a whisper but the words reverberate around us both.

The ring glows for just a second and I glance up quickly at Simon. "What was that?"

"I don't know. I didn't mean to say it with magic."

I brush my finger on the ring and a rush of warmth and well-being runs through me. Like the stars are aligned, like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place, like coming home.

"Neither did I. But I think the magic did it for us."

"Why do you think that? Is that what happens to Mages when they propose?"

"I've no idea. I think it's just because we match, Simon." I rest my forehead on his. "Your trousers are going to be scuffed."

"Don't care."

"Bunce will be livid if we're late."

"She can handle it."

"This stone I'm kneeling on for you is mighty uncomfortable, Simon."

"Not worried about it." His lips find mine.

I can't even feel my knees. I'm wrapped in the euphoria that comes with the realization that this is real, Simon said yes and that I can have this. I can have Simon.

I don't know how much later it is before we finally stand up and stretch out our aching legs. The sun is long gone and the shadowy twilight surrounds us.

"All right then. Let's brave this damn party of Bunce's."

"It's her mum's idea. She's just being supportive."

I've got hold of Simon's hand and I'm pulling him towards the stairs. I can feel the cool weight of the ring on his finger and it makes me smile.

But he's not moving. Simon's planted his feet and he's not moving.

"What? We're late as it is. They're all going to know we've been snogging, especially if we delay any more."

"I wanted to ask you something." Simon looks a little bashful, a bit apprehensive. It doesn't really make sense, not now.

"Go ahead."

"I've uh . . . I've wanted to ask you . . . but then we never really came back and I wasn't thinking all that clearly at the leavers' ball and . . . and magic wasn't something I wanted to see too much of then anyway . . . but I've always wanted to ask you . . . since I saw it."

Simon hasn't stumbled over his words like this in years. I've learned he only does it when he's truly overcome with emotion anymore.

I move closer and run my fingers along his cheekbone. "What have you wanted to ask me, Simon?"

"When the dragon was here . . . when I was fighting the dragon . . . you were on the ramparts, right here, and you floated out over the moat to help me. And honestly, Baz, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I think . . . I think that's the first moment, the first moment I might have realized that what I felt for you might . . . might not have all been hate. I couldn't think about that, so I didn't, not then at least."

"Go on, love."

"So, I'm wondering . . .wondering if you could do it again, maybe?"

I blink at him. "Do it again?"

"Yeah. Do it again." He swallows. It's a whole scene with Simon, when he swallows like that. My eyes drift to follow the line of his throat. I blink again.

"You want me to float out over the moat again? Do I have that right?"

He nods. "Yeah. But I want you to take me with you this time."

I'm gaping. "You do?" I sound like a complete git, just repeating what he's said in question form. Like the besotted idiot that I am when it comes to Simon.

Simon puts his hands in his pockets. "Yeah. I'd like that." He nods his head at me. "That's how I'd like to get down from here, Baz. Please."

"Anything you want, love." Because I can't say no to Simon Snow, not about anything really, but most certainly not to this. "Come here." I wrap an arm around Simon's waist and I feel his arms slide around me. I pull my wand out of my pocket and bring us to the very edge of the ramparts. " _ **Float like a butterfly**_ ," I whisper.

 **Simon**

I can't believe this night. I can't believe Baz. I can't believe I have a ring on my finger and my boyfriend, no, not my boyfriend- _my fiancé_ \- is holding me in his arms and I'm floating over the moat. I thought it would feel strange to be up in the air like this but it just feels exhilarating.

And somehow familiar.

Because I get a hint of this floaty feeling whenever I'm around Baz and we're being soft. I never want it to stop.

It never has to.


End file.
